


heavydirtysoul, can you save my

by franticatlantic



Series: heavydirtysoul [1]
Category: Twenty One Pilots
Genre: Alternate Universe, Depression, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Past Abuse
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-22
Updated: 2016-04-22
Packaged: 2018-06-03 21:01:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,492
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6626122
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/franticatlantic/pseuds/franticatlantic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tyler starts his new job as an aid in a psychiatric ward. Josh is a patient.</p>
            </blockquote>





	heavydirtysoul, can you save my

**Author's Note:**

> Read tags for any trigger warnings. As for the underage tag, Tyler is 22 in this fic and Josh will be 17 for the majority of it.
> 
> If I missed any other tags, feel free to holler at ya girl and let me know.
> 
> I'm hesitant to post this, mostly because it's the first work I've ever posted publicly. Also because I don't even have the second chapter written yet. But any and all constructive criticism is welcome.

If Tyler stands with his head tilted slightly to the left, the building looks nondescript. Pleasantly arched windows, white inlay, smooth red brick walls being invaded in some places by bright green, crawling vines.

He doesn't know _why_ anyone would stand with their head tilted slightly to the left on their way past (they wouldn't), but if they did they probably wouldn't even know the place is a psych ward. In Tyler's opinion, it doesn't look anything like Silver Pines.

It even reminds him a bit of the residence halls at Ohio State.

From up the street, he hears the murmur of voices. When he looks he sees a couple strolling hand in hand past the ice cream place (the parking lot of which Tyler parked his car in because he was afraid of getting towed). The couples' voices die down as they get closer and the girl sort of tugs on the guy's hand, urging him across the street. Tyler's wearing sunglasses so to them, he could be staring at anything.

They still shoot him odd looks as they pass, now on the other side of the road. Soon enough they're out of his line of sight so he turns back to the building and approaches the gate, sees the sign clearly now - CENTRAL OHIO PSYCHIATRIC HOSPITAL. Even the font gives off a faint glow, golden brown in the sunlight.

Tyler depresses the button of the intercom with a chewed-down fingernail, suspecting he'll have to wait a minute or two for someone to answer.

But it's only a few seconds before a voice - female - buzzes at him. "What can I do ya for, wide eyes?"

Tyler wonders if the woman is talking to him. "Huh?" He asks stupidly.

A throaty chuckle. "Sorry - sometimes I like to watch outside. I saw you staring. I like your glasses."

"Oh. Thanks." Tyler tugs at the collar of his shirt, glances up at the camera anchored on the outside of the gate, red light steadily beep beeping at him. "I'm here for an interview?"

He's not sure why it comes out as a question.

"Oh! You must be, uh…" It sounds like the woman is scrambling a bit in a stack full of papers.

"Tyler," Tyler supplies for her.

"Right! Tyler. Sorry about that; sometimes we get teenagers on the street who like to buzz the intercom because they think it's funny."

"Why don't you just keep the gate unlocked and move the intercom further in? Like next to the door or something."

"Well, because-" The woman seems like she fully intends to answer him, but falters. There's just static for a second. "I'll explain all that during the interview. My name's Delilah. Ask for me when you get inside."

There's a click, a buzz, and then the sound of the gate unlocking. Tyler steps through.

-

The room just past the building's front door is something of an intake-outtake / admittance room. White, sterile, fluorescent light.

It looks _exactly_ like Silver Pines.

He knows this is a bad idea. But he needs a job because screaming into the microphone in his basement every night doesn't pay the bills.

Thankfully the man at the reception desk gives him a friendly smile, knows exactly who he is and what he's here for. The man has dark skin and sits slightly hunched over the desk, elbows placed exactly shoulder width apart.

Tyler likes him already.

"When you get out of here, Delilah's room is down the hallway to the right, first door on the left. My name's Pete. Come find me if you need anything."

Tyler nods. "Thanks."

And then Pete is buzzing him through another door, on the other side of which Tyler is surprised to find a wide staircase leading up, twisting to the right. The hallway is quiet other than the whisper of noise from off to his left, which sounds like it might be coming from a television. Staticky conversation followed by a slightly delayed laugh track.

But Tyler ignores the noise in favor of following the hallway to the right, past the staircase, where Pete told him he'd find Delilah.

The plaque next to the first door on the left reads 'Delilah Hargitay, LGPC.'

Tyler knocks, hears a muffled, sing-songy, "come in."

Delilah has curly, chin-length blonde hair that falls around her face in ringlets. Her office is neat, with grade school drawings on the walls. Except for one paper that looks to Tyler like a letter, but he can't read it clearly because it's taped to the very back wall. Delilah herself is dressed in a button-down blouse and a skirt. When she stands to greet him, he sees she's kicked her shoes off under her desk.

Despite that, he feels incredibly underdressed.

"It's nice to meet you, Tyler." As she shakes his hand, Tyler knows she means it.

"You, too. Sorry I look so…well, like this." He gestures as best he can at his outfit - blue T-shirt, straight black jeans, Vans. "The email didn't say what to wear."

Delilah waves a hand in front of her face, a funny gesture that Tyler finds endearing. "Don't worry about it. Aids can basically wear whatever they want anyway so long as it doesn't have profanity printed on it."

The chair in front of her desk looks soft so when she invites him to sit down he does, letting it engulf him. He would have sat anyway, even if the chair was hard and metal and looked like something out of a prison. But he likes to think that way sometimes - like he has that choice.

"So," Delilah exhales as she sits across from him, "your background check turned up normal."

Tyler's chest gets a little less tight - when he applied for this job he knew there was a background check. Normally those sorts of things were for criminal backgrounds, but what if something else had popped up? The other things. He didn't know if that would hinder his chances of being hired here.

Delilah has grabbed a clipboard and begun to turn the pages over. Tyler catches glimpses of his name, sees the application form he filled out online. Delilah clicks a pen a few times, perusing the paper she's stopped on with her tongue poking out from between heart-shaped lips.

He expects her to start asking the usual questions - tell me about yourself. What are your hobbies? What are your strengths? What are your weaknesses? Why do you wantthisjobdoyouthinkyourequalifiedwhatmakesyoutick

"As far as I'm concerned, you're hired."

Tyler jolts forward in his chair a little. "R-Really?"

Delilah looks bemused as she stares at him over the lip of the clipboard. "Yeah. I mean, you've never been arrested, not even for a misdemeanor, and it doesn't look to me like you've ever shot dope." A tinkling laugh, as her eyes peruse his arms for track marks. Tyler turns them over, offering them to her. "Not to mention we're pretty short on good help at the moment."

Her eyes suddenly meet his again, piercing. "You accept, right?"

Tyler's head nods like it's attached to a string someone's tugging rather vehemently at. "Of course. I'd love to work here."

"Great!" Delilah discards the clipboard in exchange for a packet of papers, which she hands across the desk to Tyler. "That packet contains a bunch of background information on the hospital, security procedures, legal jargon. The important pages for you start on 14."

Tyler flips there, but doesn't have time to start perusing before Delilah jumps in. "I'll try to keep this short and to the point - the number one rule we have for the aids here is to learn about each individual patient without overstepping boundaries. All of our patients have specific needs and even patients in the same classification differ greatly from one another. If you flip to page 15 you'll see how the building's broken down. This first floor houses offices only, with one rec room down the hall. If you ever need an official, you'll probably want to look down here for me or one of the other doctors first. Even Pete, who I'm sure you met when you came in, could help you out if need be. The second floor houses our eating disorders, third anxiety and major depression, and fourth bipolars."

Delilah pauses, as if checking to make sure Tyler's still with her. He nods.

"The reason we stress not overstepping boundaries is because we do house underage patients here. I believe the youngest guest we have at the time is 13. You aren't to enter their personal quarters unless given express permission by an official or if you're assigned cleaning duty that day. And you should never, under any circumstances, administer meds or any other type of narcotics. Leave that to the nurses. Got it?"

"Got it."

"As for security measures, we keep all doors and gates to the outside locked at all times, save for during personal hours or if we're admitting someone into or out of the building. That's why I mentioned the intercom. It's for the safety of our residents - some of them - that the grounds remain sealed. Others are self-admitted; they can come and go as they please, within reason. You can differentiate them by the blue lanyards they wear."

She pauses once more, taking a deep breath. "Any questions?"

"Not so far."

It's all a little much to take in, but just because Delilah's talking so fast. Everything else sounds par for the course, in accordance with his own experiences.

"You can read all of this in your packet tonight and over the next few days…tell me, Tyler, have you ever had a history of mental illness in your family? Ever…experienced anything like that personally?"

"No," he lies.

It seems like Delilah's taking a moment to organize her thoughts before she speaks again, hands clasped together on her desk. "It's a very sensitive subject for some people. Even for some of our patients. I, personally, don't like to tiptoe around things. Everyone here has an endgame of release, right? They're here to get better and I'm not going to sugarcoat anything for them. Or for you. If you're to encounter an incident - suicide; attempted or otherwise, self-harm, evidence of one of our ED's not following their diet - anything like that - you're to alert an official straight away. Am I perfectly clear?"

Tyler nods, can barely force the word out. "Yes." He's surprised at how calm he sounds. Because his skin is already buzzing.

Up until this point Delilah's demeanor had shifted from relaxed to pin needle sharp. Now she leans back in her chair, (mostly) relaxed once more.

"Terrific. Your official title will be hospital aid, but we'll have you on different duties depending on the day. Let's see…if you can start today I can put you on travel duty?"

"Today?" He has a session planned for tonight with Nick and Chris. They're supposed to be sampling a few more tracks, recording whatever else they feel like. But Tyler would love to get rolling with the money making so he nods. "Yeah, I can start now."

Even though his heart is punching beats against his ribcage.

"I think you're going to be a wonderful addition here, Tyler."

He cracks a small smile. "Thanks. I try."

-

Delilah's leading him down the hall, toward the rec room. One of the other aids apparently already has a group set for a trip to the theater to see some new action movie that just came out and Tyler's to be joining her.

Hands stuffed into his pockets, Tyler angles himself toward Delilah and asks the question that's been burning a hole in his tongue since he first stepped foot in her office. "So, what should I call you? Dr. Hargitay or-"

She cuts him off with that tinkling laughter. "God, no. I have everyone call me Delilah. Or Lilah, if you prefer."

Tyler nods, bouncing a bit on the balls of his feet as they walk. "Delilah."

They reach the rec room sooner than Tyler would have liked, and Delilah motions for him to enter ahead of her. He pretends again that he has a choice not to, that he could just stand there and let Delilah precede him. But that he chooses not to, and the murmur of voices pulls him inside.

Until he's standing beside a girl with long brown hair, streaked in some places with blonde. She has bright green eyes and is surrounded by about six other people, all seated on couches in front of her, a coffee table between them. In the corner, the TV is still on. Reruns of The King of Queens.

A few feet away stands a ping pong table, devoid of paddles or ball. Is the ball used to play ping pong called a ping pong, Tyler wonders? Or just a ping? Maybe just a pong? It's probably just called a ball, Tyler, get your head out of the gutter.

The girl beside him has just said something to him, green eyes bright as she stares at him.

"Excuse me?"

The girl giggles. "I said I'm Angelique."

"Oh." Tyler holds his hand out for her to shake. "Tyler. Sorry, my mind was…somewhere else."

A girl sitting on the couch to Tyler's right makes an indignant noise. She's skinny, wearing a Red Sox baseball cap with her legs crossed in front of her. Thin red (more like a deep maroon, obviously dyed) hair cascades down her shoulders, ending near her ribs. She's wearing a blue lanyard. "Your _body's_ obviously been somewhere else too for the past 15 fucking minutes. Is this who we've been waiting on?"

Delilah appears at Tyler's shoulder. "Sarah, language."

Sarah rolls her eyes, but otherwise says nothing. There's someone sitting next to her, tapping their foot on the floor. Sarah's leaning so far forward that Tyler can't see who it is, though.

Tyler raises a hand to scratch and pull at his shorn hair. "Sorry. I didn't realize everyone was waiting for me."

"No." Angelique shakes her head, glances at Delilah. "I thought we were waiting for Spencer?"

Delilah's shake of the head is much more clipped. "No. I don't think he feels like going to the movies today."

"Why?" A girl across the table from Sarah asks. She has almond-shaped eyes and a nose that slopes perfectly toward her lips. Her hair is pink. She is not wearing a blue lanyard. "What's wrong with Spencer?"

"Nothing is wrong with Spencer," Delilah intones. "He's just not feeling very well."

"I think I know what's wrong with Spencer."

This from the person sitting next to Sarah. A male voice, and a male bicep Tyler can see as the person leans forward. He comes into view past the brim of Sarah's baseball cap, blue-tinged hair and eyes the color of rust. Like something left out in the rain too long.

Like cognac and something dangerous.

**Author's Note:**

> I'd first and foremost like to say thank you for reading - it means a lot.
> 
> Second, while I myself have a long history of mental illness, I've never been hospitalized or admitted to a facility for it so this is all conjecture with a ton of research.
> 
> If you clicked on this you must love TOP. So do I. Come visit me on my [Tumblr](http://gunsvorhands.tumblr.com/) and scream about Joshler with me.


End file.
